I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Dear (formerly 'no title')
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: Jack and Phyrne's first time.
1. Chapter 1

"Jack Robinson, if you don't stop talking and take advantage of me this instant, I shall never speak to you again," she said, her voice breathy, face flushed. It was an unseemly time of night and they were standing in the kitchen of her house after a long day where Phryne had been exceptionally brilliant. And exceptionally beautiful in new wool cream-coloured trousers and a sharply tailored sapphire blue jacket. Detective Jack Robinson had only stopped by to tell her that her information had paid off, but then somehow they were standing much too close and he had been babbling just to fill the space between them.

Jack Robinson did not consider himself a particularly clever man, one not prone to flashes of insight, but rather, a plodding copper, depending upon slow and steady detective work to solve his cases. He was not given to flights of fancy, or of rash action. Nor did he think of himself as a worldly man. He had little experience with women sexually aside from his unhappy marriage. He had visited prostitutes twice in Paris during the war, and still carried the shame.

At her words he felt a sensation akin to falling which he often felt in Phryne's presence, that he was about to step out of an aeroplane without any sort of parachute. That he was about to do something rash, foolish, and possibly quite insane. Even the prostitutes had been visited with careful forethought: he had hoped to learn if his failure to please his wife in bed was owing to some physical defect in himself or to ineptitude because of inexperience. The prostitutes had taught him some things—things which he later had been too ashamed to suggest with Rosie—and both had claimed to be pleased with his performance, but then he was paying them. It was hardly in their best interest to insult him.

He knew that he might not know much, but he did know that he wanted Phryne, wanted her desperately, was in fact, desperately in love with her, and had been almost from the moment she first had nimbly slipped into his crime scene and his case. He also knew that she meant every word that she said, mainly because Phryne never said what she did not mean.

And so, at long last (about time, as everyone who knew them would have said), Jack Robinson kissed Phryne Fisher deliberately, for himself alone and not in aid of a case.

He was right. It was exactly like stepping out of an airplane without a parachute, stomach flip-flopping, heart pounding, breath knocked out of him. Jack knew that no matter where he metaphorically landed, he would never be the same.

To his shock, Phryne's mouth opened beneath his, her tongue darting out to slide over his and to lure it back into her mouth. If he had felt weak-kneed before; this new sensation made him shudder with pleasure and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He groaned involuntarily, the taste of her of smoke and champagne, the intimacy of their open mouths. He'd never attempted it with Rosie, knowing that she would have found it disgusting. He felt fevered with the lust and longing he'd denied for so long.

Without thinking he pulled her body against his, gripping her waist with one hand while he seized the back of head with the other to hold her in the kiss as if he feared she would try to escape. Or to ground himself, for fear that he would panic and dash away as he so often had in the past. He didn't want to court and woo and pet. He wanted to sweep her slender form up in his arms and carry her to bed. He realized he was grinding his erection against her hips like some crazed animal, and shame and horror at what he was doing overcame him. He pushed her back from him and begged, "Phryne, please I can't…I can't…I…I…want…" What he wanted to say was that he couldn't bear it. That she would be shocked at the thoughts in his head, and that if he kept kissing her he feared that he would be unable to stop as he surely, as a gentleman, should.

Phryne's eyes were huge with surprise, and he thought she must be disgusted with his inability to control himself, but instead she pressed her whole body back against him and said, "Stop thinking, Jack. For once in your life do exactly what you want to do, not what you think an honorable man _should_ do. I've wanted this for simply ages, and I'm quite sure that you have too. Give in, Jack, stop thinking and let _go_." And at that, she took his face in her hands and kissed him again. Keeping her body tight against his she pulled him back with her until she was pressed against the table. Still locked in the kiss, he felt her give a little hop onto the table, her legs opening to welcome him between them in an unmistakable invitation.

Sod it, thought Jack, if I'm going to hell, I might as well commit the sin. She pulled one of his hands beneath her skirt and as he grazed the skin of her thigh above her stocking, he lost the little bit of restraint he still had left. He moved his hand further up until he could feel the silk of her undergarments and the heat coming off of her. He kissed her throat as if it was the only thing keeping him alive, and fumbled at his flies with his free hand. The feeling of his own hard cock, brought him back to reality, and he pulled back once again.

"I don't have a rubber, Phyne. I don't want to…"

Phryne, panting, eyes glazed, mouth bruised, laughed, "Oh, Jack, the modern woman looks after herself. It's taken care of. I was feeling optimistic."

He filed that away in the back of his mind to consider at another time, thanked God for Marie Stopes and vulcanized rubber, and went back to kissing her. She wiggled to the edge of the table and, pushing aside the flimsy silk covering her sex, he thrust into her, gliding into her wetness with one easy stroke.

"Yes!" Phryne cried out, and wrapped her legs around him so tightly he couldn't have gotten away even if he wanted to.

It was different from anything he'd experienced with the other three women. Phryne's passionate response to his every move, making sharp gasps as he thrust, and little mewls of pleasure when he slid back. He realized to his chagrin that he was going to embarrass himself like some callow youth on his wedding night. As he had, in fact, embarrassed himself on his wedding night.

"Phryne, oh God, Phryne, I'm sorry, I can't…" his climax overtook him, and he really did feel like he was falling out of a plane, as his hips bucked uncontrollably against hers. He clung to her, and felt her meet his thrusts until, second s after him, she shuddered and whimpered as if she too were climaxing.

After, he held onto her still, face buried in her shoulder feeling her run soothing hands up and down his back. She's comforting me, he thought miserably. It was awful and she's sorry and now she's being polite, and we'll never be able to look at one another again, it's all ruined.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. It's just that it's been so long for me, and…if you let me, I can try again and be better and…"

Phryne pushed on his shoulders so that she could look at his face, "Jack, Jack, why on earth are you apologizing?"

He shut his eyes. "Because I came too fast. I'm so inept at it and you're so…"

She put her fingers to his lips to stop whatever he was going to say, "Jack, darling, dearest Jack, I was hot too. Didn't you feel me? We can go slowly now, upstairs, comfortably in bed. But, oh, that was marvelous. To know you wanted me so much you couldn't control yourself. Oh, that took me right over."

He looked at her, "You, you enjoyed it?"

"Enjoyed it? Darling, I LOVED it. I'm looking forward to finding out everything you can do, you dark horse. Sweeping me off my feet, ravaging me on my own kitchen table, darling, it was a dream come true." She laughed with what sounded like genuine delight, and Jack found himself laughing too. She'd liked it! He'd given her pleasure with all his fumbling. She wanted more, oh God, she wanted more. He realized the absurdity of the situation. After all of the waiting, admiring her unrequitedly, he'd just ravaged her on a table in her kitchen. He was still fully dressed except for his cock which he wiped with his handkerchief and tucked back into his pants. Then his eyes widened.

"Oh, my God. Your household? What will they think?"

Phryne wisely decided not to mention that her household was rather more accustomed to her carnality than Jack might like. Now was not the time to go into the quantity and variety of pretty young men who often needed breakfast at her house.

"Everyone's safely tucked away in bed, Jack. We weren't terribly loud." She smirked, "I can be much louder." And then, smiling almost shyly, "Let's go to my bedroom where no one will disturb us."

He trailed her up the stairs, watching her trim figure as they climbed, thinking of all the times he'd seen her nearly naked, and now he would get to touch as well, to touch and kiss, and taste. Despite the short space of time he felt himself begin to harden again.


	2. Chapter 2

Phryne paused at the door of her bedroom to let Jack catch up. She also took the opportunity to discretely slide the painting of a wood nymph that hung by her door (a painting of her as a wood nymph actually) to one side so that it caught on a tiny hook and hung askew. This was her sign to Dot and the rest of the household that she wasn't to be disturbed, and on no account should Dot come in to wake her. She used it when she had a particularly enthusiastic lover who promised to keep her occupied in the morning, (and once when she was entertaining a distinguished guest who didn't want to be recognized.) The other lovers were woken when Dot came in with Phyrne's morning coffee. This often served to politely remind them to leave.

On the way upstairs Jack had shed his jacket and loosened his tie, a look which Phyrne found particularly attractive on him.

"You've never been in my bedroom before, have you Jack?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Are you inviting me in?"

"I believe I did downstairs. In as many ways as I could think of. I've been inviting you in for a long time, Jack. You've been quite rude not to accept."

"So I have. I apologize," he said, as he came up to her.

"You'll have to do more than apologize," she murmured, soft and low, her eyes traveling down to where the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. She moved into the room with Jack following. He shut the door behind them.

Facing him, she pushed the strap of her dress off of one shoulder and then the other, letting it drop to the floor. Amongst the decorative vines and flowers of her bedroom, she looked like the delicate nymph of the painting.

"Oh," said Jack. She stood before him now in just her silk knickers, garter belt and stockings. He set, rather heavily, onto her chaise lounge.

Phryne slipped out of her shoes and walked over to stand between his legs, her small, pert breasts at the level of his eyes. Jack took what was on offer and pressed his face to her bosom, sucked one nipple into hardness and then the other. "Phryne," he whispered.

"Jack, you're overdressed for the occasion." She stepped back to let him stand. Jack pulled off his necktie, undid his buttons and rapidly shed the rest of his clothes.

Phryne stepped forward again to run her fingers along his chest. He leaned forward and kissed her, lips parted. Breaking the kiss she walked backwards to her large bed which Dot had thoughtfully turned down. Jack followed. Kneeling between her legs he undid her garters and slowly pulled off her silk stockings, kissing the inside of each knee and her delicate feet as they were revealed. She shimmied free of her garter belt and knickers in one practiced movement. "Phryne," he whispered again. Oh, so gently, he covered her body with his own and returned to kissing her in frantic little presses of his lips to her skin as if he couldn't decide what part of her he wanted to touch next, her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders, her eyelids, her lips again, her breasts. His hands were not idle either, roaming along her arms, her ribs, her narrow waist, down to grip her hips. When he slipped into her this time, he took it slowly, savoring the way her eyelids fluttered, feeling the pulse in her throat as he ran his tongue along it.

Phryne, tortured by his slow pace, arched up to pull him fully into her yielding body. "Oh," she gasped. He kept up his maddeningly languid movements, hands and lips worshiping her, until she cried out in orgasm. Only then did he start to thrust in earnest, helping her ride the wave of pleasure, until his release took her over again.

For some time they lay together, still entwined, in a post-coital torpor. For once they were completely silent. Nothing needed to be said.

Jack woke with a morning erection. There was nothing odd in that. Most men did. And like most of his morning erections, it brought with it dreams of Phryne. Though it shamed him he kept his eyes shut and reached down to take himself in hand as he had so many times before.

"Let me," Phyrne whispered.

Jack's eyes snapped open. No dream then. He was in Phyrne's bed. He remembered the kitchen table, and then seeing Phyrne completely naked for the first time. He remembered her body as he climaxed inside her, and hardened even more.

"What a lovely thing to wake up to," said Phryne, her fingers wrapping around him, her thumb teasing at the head of his cock.

As she set up a steady rhythm, he let himself enjoy it, until he couldn't stand waiting any more. He moved to sit up and roll her over onto her back, but Phyrne had other plans. She pushed him back down, straddled him, and making sure that he was watching, lowered herself onto him with a deep sigh of pleasure.

It was a novel experience, having a woman take charge, and he gave over to her lead, letting her pull his hands up to her breasts, where he massaged and tweaked her nipples, bringing forth little shrieks of pleasure from her lips. Fascinated he watched as she slipped her hand between her legs where they were joined, and took careful mental notes of things to try later.

"Oh, Jack, yes, yes," she cried out, fingers moving frantically, rising and falling back faster and harder each time. A deep blush spread from her cheekbones and throat, down between her breasts. He felt her come apart, body clenching around his cock and making him cry out even as she wailed in her own pleasure. She fell heavily against him and kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth insistently. Keeping himself firmly lodged in her tight sheath, he rolled them over. Emboldened, he took her roughly, thrusting hard, pleased by the way her eyes widened in surprised pleasure.

"Jack, yes, just like that, harder, please, God." she babbled. "Let me…" She shifted until she could bring one long leg up and drape it over his upper arm. God the perfection of the position, like nothing he'd ever experienced, so tight. He gripped her hands with his, and ground her into the bed, until the hardest orgasm he'd ever had made him cry out, "PHRYNE!" He groaned as she wriggled beneath him, while he shuddered through sensitive aftershocks, until he felt her come again, squeezing him so tightly he thought he might pass out.

"Oh, my God," were the first words he managed to say.

"Just you and I, darling Jack," Phryne chuckled. The vibrations of her laugh rippled through him, and triggered more shudders of pleasure. He laughed too, and soon they were both laughing delightedly at themselves, at the world, at love in general.

He flopped onto his back. He was soaked in sleep sweat and the smell of sex and he felt he'd never been happier before in his life. "What a fool I've been," he started.

"Jack," she said in a mock scolding voice, "you're not going to start thinking again, are you?"

"Never again, if it pleases you."

Suddenly serious, she replied, "You please me, Jack. All of the waiting and wanting was worth it if it brought us to this."

He looked at her. There was a little Kohl left, smudged around her eyes. Without stain, her lips were surprisingly pale, and her short, dark hair was spiky in places. He thought she had never looked so lovely and that he would give anything to see her like that every morning. He was ready to propose. Instead he said, "What time is it?"

"Ridiculously early. Six, I think. I can hear the milk vans."

Thoughts of the real world made him abruptly sit up. "I…I should get going. I need to get into the station, and I'll have to stop by home to…to bathe and get a clean shirt."

She sat up too, and brought her bare knees up to her chin. "Alright, but bathe here and have some breakfast. If the milk trucks are rolling, Mr. Butler will be starting coffee."

There seemed to be a change in the room, as when the sun goes behind a cloud and dims the world.

"I'd better…I'd better go. It would be odd if I went in smelling like…smelling of roses or jasmine."

"I have a nice sandalwood shaving soap that should be quite manly enough," she smiled thinly.

"Al…alright.

"Phryne, I— May I come to dinner tonight?"

Her smile brightened, "You know that there's always room at my table, Jack. Please do."

He bathed quickly and shaved with a new blade. When he came out of the washroom he saw that she had already gone downstairs.

He encountered no one else as he made his way downstairs. When he came into the kitchen she was seated at the table wrapped in a peacock green dressing gown with a boa trim. He moved towards her, to kiss her, to make everything right again, but at that moment Mr. Butler came in. Jack froze.

Phryne licked her lips and said, "Thank you for coming to tell me the news, Inspector, so early in the morning."

Mr. Butler interpreted her look. "Ah," he said, "I thought I heard the bell. I'm so sorry to not have been there to let you in, Detective Inspector Robinson. Would you like some coffee? I have fresh orange scones and I can make up some toast and eggs quite quickly."

"No, no," said Jack. "You're very kind, I…I just came by to tell Phr— Miss Fisher that her work paid off, and I must be…getting back to the station." He hastily retrieved his hat from where he had left it the night before, incongruously on the kitchen table. "Miss Fisher, Mr. Butler, good morning."

After he had gone Mr. Butler said, "Should I get in a supply of Inspector Robinson's preferred toiletries and perhaps a few spare shirts and collars in his size as with some of the other gentlemen?"

Phryne smiled at Mr. Butler's perceptiveness. "No, I think that Inspector Robinson would prefer to…like to maintain the illusion. Perhaps just an extra supply of what you yourself use…just to have on hand."

"Very good, Miss. And may I say, Miss…"

"Yes?"

"The detective inspector is a very good man."

Phryne smiled again at receiving Mr. Butler's blessing, "Yes, he is that." To herself she thought, perhaps too good. Because Jack was a deeply honorable man, and he would want things to be honorable. He wouldn't feel right slipping in and out of her house at all hours. He would want to do the right thing. And ultimately he would want a wife and children and a happy home. He deserved them.

Oh, why did it all have to be so complicated? She loved Jack, was perhaps more in love with him than any man she had ever known, but she had sworn after Paris that no man would own her, control her. And she knew that Jack wouldn't want to own her…exactly. They'd already had clashes about her recklessness and adventure seeking. How much more would it be if… She just wasn't the marrying kind.

She loved her little house that she had decorated exactly as she liked with her own impeccable taste. She loved her independence. Yes, Dot would soon marry Hugh, and Cec would marry Alice, but that shouldn't change things too much in her happy home.

And she wanted to keep flirting with pretty men, and dancing, and investigating crime. But she wanted Jack too. It was such a muddle.

"Black coffee, Mr. Butler," she said, "and lots of it," and lit her first gasper of the day.


End file.
